


Oh the Habits of my Heart

by Dogtreat



Category: Charon Docks At Daylight
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And so many AUs, And there is so much I want to write about, And they deserve a lot of good things without the world ending, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Just two really dumb beautiful girls tbh, So there's no zombies, Spoilers, i have a lot of feelings about these two
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-04 22:49:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15851016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dogtreat/pseuds/Dogtreat
Summary: [AU] You don't believe in soulmates until you're recalling the snapshots of your lives and you realize you've been in love since the moment under the tree at eight years old, when you looked up and saw her there; looking back at you.Snapshots through Gen/Echo's lives as they navigate through falling in love.





	1. Sunkissed Summer Camp

**Author's Note:**

> I really really love these two so much?? And Reye deserves more fanfictions of his work tbh. And as if I'm not going to get in before he gets big and goes worldwide and gets a show n shit lmao. This might end up being a multi-chapter fic that follows their lives or multiple AUs I guess. Originally it was going to be, but splitting up with page-breaks?? Honestly so much better.
> 
> Anyway I hope Reye enjoys this lmao. It's not edited cause I don't have an editor/beta ✌️
> 
> EDIT : Hey here's a [spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/azkaboy/playlist/1Xs7Gfrg3cSWy9stGmXNIL?si=oiTerJTLRHC5EvXJRvW3dA) I listen to when I write this stuff :)

* * *

 

**Genevieve**

It is the middle of a sweltering hot summer and the lakeside is awake and boisterous with early morning cicadas and the like. Her family had been the first to arrive, several weeks earlier than the rest, to help with setting the cabins up. They had been coming to the lake camp for decades, according to her father; and Genevieve was neither old enough nor had the knowledge enough to know that did not mean millions of years, but she had full intent to lord such a figure over any other child she happened across.

Other groups had been arriving since late the previous evening, and she had been barred from venturing out to greet them until after breakfast. Her parents were Organizers here and she’d finally reached the age enough they had entrusted duties to her (much to her begging). She’d been labelled and given a sash that simply said ‘Supervisor’, of what she wasn’t sure but her neighbor (and fellow camper) was an older military man Mr. Greely, so she might have well as been a Major or a General.

She sat perched on her knees to watch out the back windows, curious eyes dragging along all the newly filled cabins as adults filtered in and out of them, settling in for their long summer stays. Her mother stood behind her, bunching her wild dark hair up into a ponytail as best as a wriggling eight year old would allow.

“Can I gooooo yet?” she whined from under fussy hands, tapping out a drum beat on the windowsill, “I’m borreeedddd”

“Hello bored, I’m dad,” her father chimed in as he sailed past, her younger brother Micah tucked under his arm as if he were more a bag than a toddler.

She groaned and flopped on the seat, flashing a wicked and disarming grin up to her mother who kissed her fondly on the head before moving off to help her father. They loved each other, which was more than she could say about some of the other children’s parents she had met in her short lifespan. Sometimes, kids would stay on their cabins sofa or she would be made to share a bed, and in the morning they would scatter back to their respective families as if they had never gone missing.

Finally though, a rapt came at the door and she excitedly sprinted to get it, heavy footfalls thudding against the wood. As soon as she had thrown it open she was gathered into the familiar arms of Mr. Greely as he launched into her side with tickles. He was not dressed for swimming; with a first-aid backpack slung over his shoulders and a wide-brimmed hat that she found purchase on to scramble from him with a bout of laughter.

“Mr. Greely’s here!” she yelled back into the cabin, “Can I go now!?”

Her parents answers were nondescript, but Mr. Greely patted her shoulder and reminded her of her ‘duty as Supervisor’ whatever that meant and left the door open for her as he strode in. She was gone in a flash, pulling on her sandals as she moved, towel held behind her like some kind of cape.

She reached the lakeside in record time, dropping her belongings (and her sash) before jumping from the small landing into the water below. It was cold, but pleasant and she found herself preferring to be submerged than not. As the day dragged on, it would get hotter and the water would get warmer and more populated so she might as well take advantage of what it offered now.

Genevieve was a good swimmer, she prided herself on it. She had been raised around and about lakes and it came as natural to her as walking did. Out here, head held half under the water as she laid on her back, she felt most at home. Over the low drown of the water flooding at her ears, she could hear the laughter and scream of other children as they flooded from their cabins and tents and campers. Soon she would be inundated and surrounded by more people than she could count. She took a deep breath and went under.

Humans sunk like stones if they exhaled the air from their lungs. And the water here was not salty like the ocean; so when she reached the shores bottom, some several meters deep, she stared back up through the crystal mass; the blue sky far, far above, dappled only by the waters gentle movements.

Somewhere behind her, coming from the way of the shore, she could hear children’s feet smacking on the piers wood; like a drove of a cattle being moved on a ranch. The first to throw themselves off broke the clarity of the water surface and soon a dozen small feet and legs were kicking above her; and she was out of breath.

The other children were far too playful and numerous to notice a sudden new intruder from the depths and she was joined in on their tales and games within moments. She was sociable and easy to be around and when she told them all how she was a military supervisor and showed them her special sash, they believed her wholeheartedly.

They had played and frolicked for hours, she’d have guessed. The sun had risen almost to its halfway point and was uncomfortably hot on their skin. Parents came by, lifeguards blew whistles; for now the lake had to be emptied (except for Adults, they got to stay in and for that Genevieve was ultimately jealous). It was break time, at least while the sun was at its most dangerous; and many of the children were unknowingly hungry, having put the feeling aside in favor of play and friends.

Genevieve wore her shorts and shirt and sash over her swimwear, pulling her hair back into a wet and sloppy bun. Kids followed her like some kind of leader, and a slightly older boy named Garcia said his dad was a man that flew fighter-planes and so many of them held him in just as high regard as her.

The mass of them flooded into the camp hall and only agreed to break off and meet up again when lunch was done, because every child's parents were begging them in separate directions. And if truth be told, she could use the break from being a leader; it was _exhausting_ ordering people what to do all the time.

She flopped in beside her mother who kissed gently at her still wet hair, “Having fun?” her mother asked.

“Being a supervisor is _hard_ ,” she groaned, flailing her arms out and dramatically laying her head on the table.

Mr. Greely and her father, who had just arrived with hands full of food could not suppress their chuckles. And she could feel her cheeks burn; she was not to be made fun of. Grumpily she took the sandwiches and ate, talking between bites and offering Micah scraps even though he had his own  _ baby  _ lunch. She was his big sister after all and what use was that if she could not dote on him with jelly sandwiches and sweetened tea.

“What are you doing after lunch, Gen?” her mother asked again, offering a choice of apple and grapes to her youngest, who reached out for more sandwich than fruit.

“Mmm, I dunno,” she replied with a mouth full of bread, crumbs spilling out onto the table and down her front, “The kids wanna have a water fight but that’s _boring_. Maybe I’ll order them into building shore forts playing mud war instead.”

Lunch and the lake ban was a little over an hour long. Many of the kids, restless, decided to gather in groups in the hall. Introducing each other to their parents and their siblings and their other friends; sharing food and snacks and bubbly drinks. Shyer children elected to sit at empty tables and draw or over-excitedly show each other their newest handheld games or trading cards.

Genevieve, after kissing her mother goodbye, and leaving a wet smooch on her brothers forehead, made off around the hall and the surrounding covered areas to find some of the friends she had made at the water.

After some searching and failing, though being sucked into several conversations along the way by kids playing games she actually liked; she scuffed her feet and started back towards her family.

As she passed a set of shady trees she found herself taking pause to look at a girl huddled beneath one; her head buried in a book. She looked about Genevieve’s age, but smaller, fairer skin. Light, curly hair was pulled back off her face, save for a few curls that hung down defiantly. Gen knew she’d been standing there for far too long to appear normal and her cheeks flushed for it. 

She should go back to her parents. She should. She doesn’t.

Fists curled once or twice, maybe three times before she had gathered confidence enough to approach the girl dressed in tie-dye and scrappy jean shorts. She does not lift her head to acknowledge Gen, and she assumed it was because her head was buried so deep in the book that the outside world didn’t matter.

She made a huff and a big deal of clearing a spot before sitting down.

“Hi,” she said with perhaps a little too much of a chipper voice, “I’m Genevieve. What’chya readin?”

The girl startled, violently; having either not heard or comprehend the presence of another person until she dragged her eyes up and away to see what the noise was.

Genevieve laughed; a raspy, glee-filled laugh as the girl frantically searched the area for something more familiar. Like a deer frozen in a hunter's sight.

“Your fams behind the tree, I think,” Genevieve chuckled out, jutting her chin toward over her shoulder; and just like that the fear seemed to evaporate from the girl as she took stock of the situation she now found herself in.

“Sorry,” she mumbled out shyly, shutting the book—  _ Harry Potter,  _ and bringing her knees to her chest in a protective manner, “Um, what was your name?”

“Genevieve,” she repeated, proud of her name, flashing a toothy grin and puffing her chest out in an attempt to show off her sash of honor, “I’m a Supervisor.”

The girl glanced down at the sash and furrowed her eyebrows but made no comment, “My name’s Hayden.”

“Wanna come play in the lake?” Gen asked, excited at the prospect.

Instead the girl flushed a deep red and viciously shook her head, “N-no thank you! I uhm. Left my swimsuit at my camp…”

“We can go get it!”

At that moment, before Genevieve could protest further, a much older girl, probably in her teens she’d have guessed, stuck her head around the tree, “Hey nerd,” she snapped though her tone was light and friendly, “Come’on we’re going for a walk.”

Genevieve could not hold her scowl and made no attempt to hide it from the new person either. Even if they knew each other, it wasn’t nice to call someone a nerd and she knew that. Still though, the girl got to her feet and blurted out an apology before dashing off around between the pines without even a proper goodbye.

With that apparently done and said, she stood herself up and stormed back towards her families meeting spot. Whatever it had been had spoiled the entire rest of her day, she decided. And she had no want to go back to swimming or playing with the other children. What was the point when her  _ One Friend  _ had been forced to go elsewhere. She sulked for the remainder of the night.

 

* * *

  **Hayden**

The lakeside was beautiful enough, if not a little more boring than she imagined. She had only brought along enough books to hold her over for a week and they were here for three. It had been her father’s idea; he needed time away from work anyway and a three-week lake vacation had been the idea the family settled on.

She barely interacted with the other kids running about; preferring to keep her nose buried in a book, either inside the cabin or out amongst her family. The only stranger she had elected to speak to was the girl some several days beforehand. And she had not seen her again since that day so could not apologize further; not that she’d ever have gathered up the courage to do so anyway.

Becca, her older (and for more annoying) sister called from the kitchen, “Hayden! We’re headed to the bonfire! Hurry up.”

To end the first week of the camp, and to really welcome the summer in, the lake owners had organized a bonfire dinner meetup. Only a small one, because the nights were still sweltering; but fires and food and drinks brought people together. So it wasn’t all a waste.

She sighed, heavily shutting her book and taking her time to actually make her way from the bedroom, fussing with her hair and clothes a bit beforehand. Another tie-dye, this one handmade from her mother some weeks previous.

“Do we have to go? It’s too hot to stand around a fire,” she groaned, scuffing her feet along the floorboards, “Plus activities begin tomorrow. We’ll have plenty of meetups. This sucks.”

Her mother, always placating and beautiful, smothered her face in kisses, “It’s for your father. He’s trying to make friends. You don’t have to stay the entire time. Just to say hello.”

She groaned again but slipped on her flip flops anyway; grabbing her little sisters hand as they walked. Millie was good at making friends, she was a year and a half younger than Hayden and was far more sociable; obviously taking after Becca, their eldest, who had run some distance ahead to clap a girl on the back who she apparently knew.

“You didn’t bring your book?” her mother asked, blue eyes fondly watching as Hayden shook her head, “ _Harry Potter_ is all the rage you know, might have won you some company.”

“I’m fine mom,” she answered, digging her hands into her jean shorts, “We’re only here for a bit right? What’s the point of making friends.”

They were quiet for the rest of the walk to the meeting area. The bonfire had already been setup, and while it wasn’t the most magnificent, it was definitely a sight to see on a summers night; insects crowding it like it wasn’t their inevitable death.

Her father was with another couple of men, their families chatting off to the side. One of the men was dressed in fatigues, and had an important looking badge on his chest and “Owner” written in reflective letters on his wide-brimmed hat. She blushed madly as she was introduced to them, ducking her head and barely managing to stutter out a hello ( _she’s shy_ , her parents said as they ruffled her hair).

And with hellos said, and her little sister pawned off onto her mother; Hayden took off to find a dark shaded spot, away from the bustle of the crowd and the children fighting with foam swords and scavenged bark shields.

She loathed not bringing her book now. Instead she took up a stick from below and began to doodle into the dirt. And then, when that got boring, she walked about gathering up pine needles and sticks and stones and odd little natural decorations, dumping small armfuls of them nearby her chosen tree.

When she finally had everything gathered she sat down again, brushing her hands clean on her pants and set to work. Her mother had always been fond of building natural houses, for fairies and the like. And while Hayden didn’t wholeheartedly believe in that kind of stuff, it was better to be polite and safe than sorry. Fairies needed homes too.

She had no idea how long she’d been sitting there, threading needles together with tiny strips of bark before she noticed there were feet standing in front of her; feet wearing intensely ugly crocs. She scrunched her nose before looking up. 

“Oh,” the figure (clearly a girl, if the voice was to be trusted) said, too dark and backlit to see the features of properly, “You’re that girl! Hayden.”

When she bent down, her features suddenly becoming visible in the fires and torchlight glow; Hayden remembered it as the girl some days beforehand (her name forgotten). Her cheeks immediately flushed and felt her eyes prick with shy tears. She wished she wasn’t so anxious and stupid.

“How was your walk? I haven’t seen you _all week_ ,” the girl said, twisting and turning the bunched up, threaded pine needles in her grimy fingers, “What are these?”

That was a lot of questions, Hayden thought. But she swallowed the fear and stone in her throat and stuttered out, “Uh, w-walk? O-oh and houses. For fairies.”

The girl cocked her eyebrow and shrugged but immediately went back to smiling, “Cool. I like your shirt!”

“Shirt?” Hayden repeated, confused and still very flustered.

“Haha yeah. It’s all colorful n stuff. Mom would never let me wear stuff like. It’s hard enough to get her to let me wear my sports stuff outside of sports. Do you play sports!? I play soccer and football and sometimes hockey, oh and track, obviously duh.”

“Sports?” Hayden again repeated; the girl talked so fast and much and she had a hard time keeping up. Her eyes flicked over towards the fire, searching desperately from her family.

The girl smiled and sat cross legged in front of her, either not noticing or choosing to ignore the desperate look, “You’re like a little Echo,” she chuckled, “Like when you go caving and you yell real loud and the cave answers back.”

“E-e-echo?” she felt so stupid, so scared. She hated this. This is why in school she had no friends either. Her cheeks flushed harder and she felt her chest tighten in panic.

The girl. What was her name again? Leaned forward. Apparently very concerned suddenly. Even more so when Hayden’s hand flung to her chest in realization she couldn’t breathe. She looked pleadingly up at the girl.

In her defence, the stranger was quick on her feet, sprinting back towards the crowd of parents and adults; explained her love of sports, Hayden would later guess. She couldn’t hear anything but the blood pounding in her ears. She could vaguely see the strange loud girl grabbing the hand of someone and pulling them away; forcing them to move at a run back towards her.

“See Mr. Greely! I think she’s having that thing your wife gets! Panics! You gotta help her!”

The older man, with calloused hands but a calming voice talked slowly with her. Matching her breathing in quick succession, letting her feel at his chest until they both started to even out; slowly, gradually. The bossy girl stood by, worried hands crossed over her chest, anxiously shifting from foot to foot until she had calmed entirely.

The man, Mr. Greely, smiled at her, touching at her forehead and talking quietly, “Hey, good job kiddo. You sit tight, okay? I’ll go fetch your parents. Moretti,” he said, pointedly looking at the other girl, “Stay here,” and with that he left almost as quick as he arrived, moving with the posture of a man on a mission back towards the adults down the hill.

Genevieve, that was her name. Genevieve Moretti apparently. Somewhere amongst her anxiety attack she remembered the name the girl had said those days ago. She felt ashamed now. Having panicked the way she did. Tears stung at her eyes, her cheeks burning with embarrassment and fear. What must Genevieve think? What a loser.

The taller girl squatted down and offered her a soft, warming smile, “Mr. Greely will find your parents in no time. He’s good like that.”

She smiled shakily in return, crudely wiping the tears from her eyes with her dirty hands, recoiling at the sting the dirt left.

“Did uhm. Did I make you all scared n stuff?” Genevieve asked, her uhm betrayed the confidence in the words thereafter, “I talk a lot. I’ll stop.”

Hayden might have replied (might have) had her Mother, towing a grumpy Millie behind her, not chosen that exact moment to turn up. Worry was etched across her mother’s features, soft, kind hands reaching down to run through her hair. She couldn’t help crying at that. Couldn’t hold the heavy tears back. She allowed her mother to scoop her up as if she was weightless; crying a wet pool into her shoulder.

“Sorry,” the older woman said in hushed tones, looking apologetically between Genevieve and Mr. Greely, “If you could tell my husband I’ve taken Hayden back to the cabin?”

The older man nodded and took Genevieve by the shoulder, leading her back towards the party; the girl looking over her shoulder every other step at Hayden’s sobbing form. And Hayden, over her tears and her mothers hushes, could not hear what the other girl was saying but felt all the more embarrassed for it.

By the time her, her mother and her sister had reached the cabin her tears had subsided and she struggled out of the calming arms holding her. 

“Honey,” her mother said, blue eyes raking across her face, “Hayden, I’m sorry. I know stuff like this is really hard for you. I shouldn’t have forced you to come.”

“You can come sleep in my bed,” Millie said, only now apparently realizing her tiredness, grabbing at Hayden’s hand to encourage her to the shared bedroom.

She followed compliantly, tired herself from her crying, and far too anxious to ask to go back to apologize to the girl, Genevieve. She was determined to remember her name now. The loud brash girl who both sent her into a panic and saved her from it.

After she was settled in bed and her sister long fallen asleep against her side, she found herself instead staring at the ceiling. The moonlight trickled through a gap in the curtains, playing patterns on the floors and walls; a milky bright white that she imagined could swallow her whole given half the chance.

Her sister and father entering the cabin and talking in hushed tones with her mother (about her, she would gather) made her burn in further embarrassment and angrily roll away from Millie. She buried her head into the plush pillow and forcefully closed her eyes.

She’d show them. She’d go and talk to Genevieve and she’d make  _ a friend _ . And she wouldn’t be shy or embarrassed at all. And she’d get involved with the camps activities for the remainder of their time here.  _ No more panic attacks _ , she inwardly reprimanded herself.  _ Be up bright and early tomorrow and you can go find Genevieve and it’ll be fine _ .

She heard her bedroom door open and the leak filter through, her father checking in if she were to hazard a guess, before it closed again and she heard, “Fast asleep. Poor thing,” before the voices were too muffled to discern again.

Genevieve.

Tomorrow.

 

* * *

**Genevieve**

Being a supervisor was  _ hard work _ .

She’d spent a long night partying it away with the adults (and being anxious over the girl she had scared into crying) and crawled into bed  _ at midnight _ . Which might as well have been 0400 to her. 

Hungover on soda and too much candy, she slumped over her cabins table and looked pleadingly at her mother, “Juice, please. M’dyin” she wheezed.

Her mother laughed and poured her a fresh glass of orange, “I told you to stop after your third cola. You’ll be too sick to swim today.”

“I can’t miss swimming! Garcia challenged me to a shark and sword battle!!”

Her mother, buttering the toast below her, cocked a slender eyebrow and looked up, “And what does that entail?”

“Dunno. He said he’d tell me later. Reckon it’s probably got biting involved though. Did you know Sharks lose their teeth and regrow new ones ALL the time?”

Genevieve shoveled a piece of toast into her mouth, wiggling at the taste of the melted butter and cinnamon. This was the summer-camp treat that she never got at home. Her mother was busy with her brother and probably hadn’t heard her shark fact, so she stored it for again for later; fully intent on showing off forbidden knowledge.

Her father was nowhere to be found so she assumed he was off doing important manager stuff. Swimming was due to end by 1030 and then they had a basket weaving class (boring, but a necessary skill for any nearly eight year old, Mr. Greely said. And Genevieve trusted his word on that. He was a soldier-man after all). So, realistically, she mulled over as she licked the sugary cinnamon from the bread, she had until 1030 to find the girl and apologize and maybe speak less this time.

“Mom, can I go now?” she said, guzzling the last of her juice, “I got a job this morning.”

Brown eyes surveyed her closely before nodding, “Put sunscreen on before you leave, Genevieve! So help me if I find you without it again. And wear a hat. It’s hot already…”

Genevieve was long gone down the hall and out the door before her mother had even finished, a large dollop of sunscreen in her hand and hat on her head; rubbing it into her skin in a half-assed manner as she walked down the way she watched Hayden’s mother go the night before. She wasn’t  _ stupid _ . She’d figure out which cabin it was, can’t be too hard. And she was a  _ Supervisor _ , so she could just go knocking until she found it. Probably.

The first few cabins were just adults. Or teenagers (blugh). But eventually she started running into children; some of who she knew from the lake-games. She paused to talk with them, it was her duty afterall. She even asked some if they had seen a girl that matched her description; none of them had, so she moved on.

Eventually she spotted someone she thought she recognized; the man that had been laughing and joking with her father and Mr. Greely all night. She moved up to him at an aggressive pace, only slowing down when he turned to actually notice her.

“Hello Mr. Blair!” she said, excitedly, perhaps too much so.

“Oh. Genevieve, right? Moretti’s kid?”

“Mmhm!” she swayed back and forth on her feet, hands held tightly behind her back, “Is Hayden inside?”

“Sure is,” he replied, wiping his sweaty hands on the beach towel he had flung over his shoulder, “Hey I was just going to talk to Ben, sorry Mr. Greely. To thank him for last night, apparently he rescued little Hayden. Do you know where he would be this time of morning?”

Genevieve pretended to think. Of course she knew where Mr. Greely was. At this time of morning he’d be in the mess-hall setting up for breakfast-come-morning-snacks. Most campers brought their own breakfast foods, but there was always some on offer anyways; because some families just weren’t as well off as hers apparently.

“Yeah. I think he’d be in the eating hall. He runs breakfast. Can I go in and see Hayden?”

“Of course kiddo, let yourself in. She’d be up now, I think,” he smiled and ruffled at her hair, “Thank you.”

He moved off before she did. And she politely waited until was at least a little ways off before she power-walked to the front door and knocked, once, twice. A faint answer, too quiet for her to hear. She opened it and poked her head in.

“Helloooo?” she called.

“Oh hello!” a face poked itself around the kitchen corner. Hayden’s mother, “Oh you’re the girl from last night.”

Genevieve blushed and nodded, throwing her thumb over her shoulder, “Mr. Blair said I could come in.”

“Of course, of course,” the girls mother answered, waving her over, “I’m sorry about last night, what was your name again?”

“Genevieve”

“What a pretty name,” Mrs. Blair said, a smile reaching her dark but soft blue eyes. Genevieve thought she was probably blushing. The lady was very pretty, and for a moment (just a moment), she wished she was her own mother, “Do you know how to make scrambled eggs?” the woman asked, leading Genevieve in through to the kitchen, “Do you think I could borrow an extra set of hands, Miss  _ Supervisor _ ?”

She beamed at that title. Most of the kids looked up to her like a leader, but actually getting asked to do a task by an adult? Way cooler.

“Yeah!” she almost shouted in response, “Mom taught me!”

Her mother hadn’t actually taught her how to make scrambled eggs, but she’d seen it done on tv a few times. And figured it couldn't have been that hard. She wasn’t allowed to  _ cook  _ them of course, that was up to Mrs. Blair. But she did a good job of actually breaking the eggs (and picking the pieces of shell out of the bowl) and then scrambling them with the fork and a dash of milk. 

She also set about putting some toast on (that, she was allowed to cook) and fetching the tray of butter from the fridge. After the eggs were put on to fry she was tasked with coring some apples, with a fancy little device her mother didn’t own and that she had to use two hands to actually split the apple through with.

Mrs. Blair was intensely nice. Soft-spoken. Genevieve discovered she was an artist. And that Hayden was too. And she got to tell the older woman all about what sports she played and how many medals she’d won and so and so forth. And she beamed at every compliment given and eventually, far too soon, she realized the table had been set for breakfast and she was seated down in the wooden chair. Woops.

“Oh. I- I should go. Mom’s probably looking for me.”

“Nonsense, sweetheart,” Mrs. Blair said and fussed over at her, “Sit. I’ll explain to your mother later. You deserve to eat the food you prepared.”

Genevieve nervously sat back down and felt her entire face and neck grow a deep red, like sunburn almost. And as Mrs. Blair sung  _ Girls! Breakfast  _ out over her shoulder, she tried to bury herself in her chair. She had only wanted to apologize to Hayden. Not invite herself in for breakfast.

Little fast pitter patters indicated at least one set of feet and in a flash a little girl was pulled up next to her, looking at her quizzically; but a smile from their mother immediately had them calmed and explaining her name was Millie and that she was  _ five _ . And Gen congratulated her on that feat; even though it wasn’t that impressive to her.

A slower feet shuffle made her turn her head and if Hayden hadn’t been so half-asleep, she probably wouldn’t have been acting so  _ cute _ . Genevieve blushed all the more deep. The girl hadn’t even noticed the strangers presence, even after taking the seat across from her; all but falling into it with a grunt.

“Don’t the eggs look nice?” Mrs. Blair said, and gave a secretive wink at Genevieve.

“Mmhm,” Hayden replied in a quiet and tired voice, forced to support her head from falling forwards with her elbow-propped hand.

“Well thank our guest then, lazy.”

That roused the girl. Wild eyes looking up from under her hair directly at Gen. Her breath quickened for a moment and she sat all the more straight. Hands suddenly off the table.

“Hi,” said Genevieve, far more meek than she had been all morning, offering a small wave.

Breakfast was tense, to say the least. At least between the two girls. Millie talked nonsense and Mrs. Blair listened in with as much rapt interest as possible with a chattering five year old; correcting her words here and there.

Genevieve ate every last bite on her plate, even though she had eaten toast earlier and was close to bursting. She probably couldn’t swim now, even if she wanted to. Hayden ate a great deal slower.

“Did you girls want to go swimming now? Or maybe a walk? Millie likes helping with the dishes and I don’t need a  _ supervisor _ for that.”

“Oh. Only if Hayden wants to,” Genevieve supplied before Hayden could manage to stutter something out, and she could see the relief wash over the girls face at not having to deal With That. She couldn’t really stop herself from feeling hurt by it, “I got work to do anyways. Thank you for breakfast, Mrs. Blair.”

She was on her feet before any arguing could happen and was moving down the hallway at a rigid pace. Hands pushed deep into her cargo pant pockets as she angrily shoved her feet into her sandals, grumbling under her breath at the entire ordeal. And she hadn’t even  _ apologized _ . Woops again, she guessed.

With a kick of some loose sand on the walkway she made off back towards her parents villa. This summer sucked! The only person she wanted to be friends with, happened to be the one that didn’t in return. The anger brewing against her ears caused her to miss the quick footsteps behind her until the figure fell in beside her.

Hayden didn’t speak. Didn’t offer why she had suddenly decided to follow. But suddenly Gen was no longer angry. Perking up instantly at the arrival, walking with more a swagger now than moments before.

It was a fair walk back up towards the halls and main housings and while they were quiet for the most part, Genevieve couldn’t keep her words held in forever, “Sorry. For spooking you last night.”

“It’s okay,” Hayden supplemented, “I’m not good with people. I like books better.”

“Yeah? I saw you reading  _ Harry Potter _ the other day. Is it good? I don’t read much.”

Genevieve was good at this. Her mother had said so when she first started school. She learned it from her father; how to get quiet people to talk. Not that she went around befriending the quiet kids in school, but she was far too eager and willing to have them join her work or play groups. And this girl wasn’t so dissimilar to them. Of course she’d read Harry Potter, or had her father read it to her. And she’d watched a few of the movies.

“It’s really cool. I wish I was a witch. And going to Hogwarts.”

“I’ve watched one of the movies, I think,” Genevieve pondered under the guise of a lie, “What house would you be in?”

“Becca thinks I’d be in Slytherin. But she’s just being mean. I think I’d be in Gryffindor.”

“Haha, yeah cause you like books like Hermione Granger,” Genevieve chuckled out and watched the blush cover her new friends cheeks, “I’d be Gryffindor too I think. Cause I’m really brave. And I’m Captain of my soccer team. And I like lions. Hey we’d be in the same house!”

They continued to discuss  _ Harry Potter _ all the way until they reached the mess-hall, and Genevieve lead them around the side to the staff door. There were better snacks in the cordoned off zones, and it’d be quieter. And while she didn’t say it would be quieter  _ for Hayden _ , the implication was there and left the other girl with a shy smile.

Whatever staff happened to be hanging about paid no attention to them, thanks to Genevieve’s presence and she sat them at a small table with bar stools and went to fetch some juice boxes from the kitchen, returning with extra bottles of water. Her mother was right, the day truly was a hot one.

They drunk in semi-silence that Genevieve was used to by now. Hayden wasn’t anything like her other camp friends or her school friends as a matter of fact. She kept her head down and mouth closed, nodding or shaking her head to the small unimportant questions Genevieve asked her. And she found her so pretty. Maybe the prettiest girl she’d ever seen.

“What’s your favourite color?” she asked eventually, their juices finished and halfway through their waters.

“Rainbow” Hayden replied quietly, looking up at Gen with a smile that made a single cheek dimple rather than both, “It counts.”

“You just couldn’t decide,” Genevieve teased, poking her friends arm with a lazy smile, “I like gray I think. Silver. Maybe greens too.”

She was going to say more. She really was. She’d only just gotten Hayden to start really properly answering questions. And she’d managed a smile, and a cute one at that. But a voice of a staff member singsonged from somewhere in the kitchen.

“Genevieve? Your father says he’s looking for you.”

He always had the  _ worst  _ timing. Her mother always complained about it too. She let out a loud, pained groan and flung her hands by her side in a grumpy fit. Hayden smiled at that too, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Maybe we can meet up later?” Genevieve offered, “There’s swimming lessons on at the lake so maybe back here?”

Hayden nodded, and Gen couldn’t help but notice the small blush that crossed the girls features at the offer for more friendship. She also couldn’t help letting her own blush rise up and cleared her throat.

“Okay! Cool! I’ll see you then, uhm. Bye!” she all but shouted as she sprinted out the door, desperate to get out of there and erase her hot cheeks and throat.

What was _wrong_ with her? She’d have to ask her mother later.

 

* * *

**Hayden**

The next three weeks went by far too fast. She had been told at the beginning that they were only staying three weeks, and yet she found herself stomping her feet in anger at having to leave before summer was up. There was still another month left.

She hadn’t even read all the books she originally brought; originally designed to only last a week. Genevieve had dragged her from her cabin every morning and returned her every night. Her friend made sure there was always water available, and shade. And though she wouldn’t mention it, Hayden was  _ pretty sure _ that the activities they did were ones that she’d enjoy, rather than Genevieve; but she had always at least pretended to have fun, so it wasn’t worth bringing up.

Several times she had  _ almost  _ gone swimming before remembering her inability to. And Genevieve was patient with that too. Wading by the shoreline and only venturing out to dip down low and fetch interesting things at the bottom of the swim-area; leaving Hayden  _ terrified  _ that she would never resurface. But Genevieve was good at swimming, and returned every time, all smiles and sun kissed shoulders.

She’d given Genevieve a number of paintings she’d done in the classes and in return Genevieve gave her a hand braided leather bracelet (which she  _ assured _ Hayden she had skinned from a cow itself with her  _ bare hands _ , but which Hayden doubted the sourcing of). 

Their families had dinner together most nights; if only because Genevieve would beg as such. And often Mr. Greely joined them too. And her father looked relaxed and happy and nothing like the man she could remember walking through the evening door after work. And Millie got to play with Micah, because she had been  _ begging  _ her mother for a baby brother  _ forever _ . And if Hayden were being honest, they felt like extended family in no time; the kind you see all the time that live two streets over and share dinners and holidays and breakfasts with. 

But eventually, and it seemed without warning, their departure date came. She had heard her mother tell her several times as such, but her brain had filtered the information out. Too busy being connected at the hip with her best friend. Too busy to remember the reality of the situation.

She cried when she woke up and found her parents packing everything up. Loud, angry, heavy tears and stamping feet. And Millie, who had been fine with the situation until then, started to cry too.

Genevieve had not turned up at the crack of dawn that morning and that made her cry harder. But her father assured her, after calming the both of them down, that Genevieve and her family would be round later to say goodbye and see them off. And if she asked Genevieve nicely, she might even be given an email address to correspond by.

She waited on the porch all morning, refusing to help pack because it would speed the process up and of that she had no intention. Grey eyes peered up through the unusual low-lying fog, waiting patiently for her friend.

But nobody came. Not even by ten-am. Not even after her parents loaded all their suitcases and gear into the car and trailer. Her hands felt clammy and her chest tight. Genevieve hadn’t been late for _weeks_ and today was her leaving day; surely she should have known that.

Nobody in her family said anything. Even Becca, who would have usually teased her by now, stayed silent; giving her hair soft ruffles as she passed by to pack the last of their things into the vehicle.

Mr. Greely did turn up, but it was hardly a consolation to a broken heart. And he spoke only in low tones to her father. Handing off small slips of paper between each other and giving hard, shoulder-pat hugs before parting. He gave her a soft smile and a tilt of the hat and that was it. He too returned back up into the fog.

“Hayden, sweetheart,” her Mother spoke from behind her, a gentle hand against her shoulder, she couldn’t bare to look, “We have to get on the road. Ben told your father the Moretti’s are very busy this morning. We have their phone number, and Mr. Greely said he’d pass along—”

“No,” she whispered weakly in reply, tears welling at her eyes as she shoved past her mother and into the car, slamming the door beside her. She couldn’t help the sobs that immediately spilled over.

She was so angry. So upset. She had finally made a  _ real friend _ and they had just abandoned her on her final day like she was  _ nothing _ . And no amount of phone numbers or emails or Mr. Greely could make up for that.

Everyone piled into the car around her, looking at her sympathetically and buckling in. The sound of the engine turning over made her heart ache harder. She shut her eyes. Breathed in and out, slowly, surely. This pain and panic would pass like any other. That’s what Genevieve had said every time she had gotten shy or anxious.

The car lurched forward. Wheels turning over and kicking up small amounts of gravel. Outside the windows, beneath her shut eyes, she could see the shadows of the passing cabins. Light. Dark. Light again. A large gap, the marina. A big shadow, the dining hall.

Light. Dark. Light again.

The car stopped suddenly, brakes locking and her father swearing under his breath, “Could have gotten herself killed,” she thought he said.

And then there was frantic knocking at her window.

She opened her eyes, startled, unsure.

In the fog outside, which seemed to be lifting in the early morning sun, Genevieve was pounding on the window, face pressed as close as possible, lazy big grin peering inside.

Her heart swelled.

She had never left the car so fast; her arms were around Genevieve’s neck before she could even really process the rough gravel beneath her feet. She smelled of sweat and her chest was pounding, fast breathing. She’d been running, sprinting even.

Small, tight hands clung to her shirt and her hair and a small, exhausted voice spoke into her ear, barely above a whisper, “I’m so sorry I was late.”

Hayden buried her face into the taller girls shoulder, standing on her tiptoes to do so. She didn’t want to let go.

“I’m sorry I was late, Micah, he got sick. Mom rushed us all to the clinic. Dad drove me back.”

She pulled back, just slightly, to look at Genevieve before hugging her tight again, “It’s okay. We have to leave today.”

“I know. I made Dad speed” Genevieve chuckled, and Hayden thought she felt a small wave against her back, aimed at her parents and Millie probably.

“Why did you run?” she said, parting again, looking back at her parents to see them all very pointedly not looking in their direction; giving well deserved space and privacy.

“I was walking down to your cabin, but I saw your car through the fog. I had to sprint back up the hill to catch you,” she said, chest still heaving, “Here I have something for you.”

From the backpack she hadn’t noticed before, dropped at Genevieve’s feet, she pulled out a shirt. Tie-dye. Not particularly a well done one, and a few sizes too big. But it looked new, and handmade and full of love. Her lips pulled up into her lopsided smile, straining at her cheeks.

“I didn’t get you anything…” she said, pulling the shirt close to her chest.

“S’okay,” Genevieve said, reaching up to rub at the back of her head, “Was mom’s idea. I was just going to give you a rock with my name on it. Mom tucked a card with my email on it, in the front pocket. So when you get home, you can email me!”

She flung herself at Genevieve again, embracing her with the tightest hug yet, “Promise we’ll stay friends?”

Tights hands gripped at her shirt again and she felt a cold, sweaty nose press in against her shoulder, “O’course, Hayden. I’ll miss you heaps. Maybe we can visit each other too.”

“Yeah,” she replied in a quiet, content tone.

And then she was standing back. Clutching onto the gift shirt like it was her lifeline. Her cheeks colored, she could feel them doing so; and with swift, unsure movements, she reached up and pressed a soft peck of a kiss against Genevieve’s cheek.

“Bye, Genevieve”

She didn’t stop to hear a reply, quickly scuttling back to the car with a flushed face. Her mother, chancing a look in the rearview mirror giving a slight chuckle. The car immediately launched forward again, her father’s window down to throw a wave across to Mr. Moretti.

And when she looked out her mother’s side mirror, she could see Genevieve. Alone. Standing in the dust of their car in the clearing morning. A hand held against her cheek, the spot she had placed the kiss; watching the vehicle move further and further away.

It was a long while until Hayden stopped searching in the mirror for her best friend, and longer still that she stopped glancing over her shoulder; hoping she’d see the Moretti’s car following them. And even longer still that she undid her ironclad grip on the shirt she had been gifted, lifting it to her nose; smelling everything Genevieve.


	2. Looking At You, Like A Star

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's edited this time. And when I say that I mean I read through it again and didn't immediately spot any mistakes. But it's 11pm and I'm Bad at editing. A continuation of the childhood friends > lovers trope thing,,,whatever this ?? lmao. For Reye and For Lesly.
> 
> _Official[Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/azkaboy/playlist/1Xs7Gfrg3cSWy9stGmXNIL?si=V-s3mSyISvu9gtNmjwjtpg)_   
> 
> 
> **:: CONTENT WARNINGS FOR CHAPTER ::**  
>  \- Character Death  
>  \- Depictions of Illness

* * *

**Hayden**

Neither of them could have guessed they would still be talking after four years (and counting) since Genevieve had all but pushed her way into Hayden’s space. They kept in contact regularly, first through email, then through text messaging, then when they had both racked up alarming bills through the use of Skype. Every day after school was a race to see who would be the first home to leave the other a flurry of unintelligible messages; and every weekend was made up of at least one video call where entire families were shown to each other.

Frequent holidays across states had become the norm. Sometimes they arranged to meet halfway, in some small campsite or interesting town. And just several months past, Hayden had all but guilt-tripped her Father into travelling by plane to Rochester, just the two of them, to spend a school-week with Genevieve; “just in case they moved there”.

But the past week had made Hayden worried. Terrified even. The little activity Skype icon showed white. Blank. Offline. Genevieve’s profile photo; one they had taken together the year beforehand; staring back at her in an almost mocking fashion. She had left messages to her of course, the usual after-school drivel. And when that had garnered no reply one evening, nor the next, she left a worried few _Hello?’s_. Every day. For days. And no reply had come. No phone call, no text message, no emails. Genevieve’s Facebook was silent too, with unanswered posts on her timeline from her school friends asking after her absence.

Hayden’s stomach felt like iron, weighing her down heavy with anxiety and clammy fear. She took to painting with her Mother to calm her nerves, and threw herself into her piano and her studies and her already read and loved books.

And then suddenly after a day at school that felt like it dragged on forever, she slid into her computer chair, expecting nothing; and instead found a litany of posts to Genevieve crowding her Facebook wall. Some from friends and a great deal more from strangers.

_:: RIP :: Sorry Moretti, thinking of you babe x :: RIP :: God has a plan for everyone :: RIP :: Heaven is a softer place, she’ll always watch over you :: RIP :: Sorry for your loss :: RIP :: Heard about your mom, sorry, rest in peace :: RIP :: RIP :: RIP :: RIP :: RIP ::_

Post after post after post. Whatever her stomach had felt until now was nothing to how it bottomed out; dropping like lead and causing instant dry heaves and muscle spasms that ran the length of her body.

She felt her legs move before her brain could catch up, down the stairs, through the hall, into the kitchen. Her Mother. Her intensely good and kindly and loving Mother; back turned, cutting vegetables for the coming dinner. She wrapped her arms around her Mother’s middle and cried, loud, choking tears; breath coming hard and fast and then not at all.

Mrs. Moretti was dead. And Hayden hadn’t known. And she’d left so many messages for Genevieve thinking she was ignoring her. So many stupid emojis and images and stories of home and of her own Mother and Oh God.

She couldn’t speak through her tears. Couldn’t get the words out. Even when Becca, alerted by the sobbing some several rooms over, came to investigate. Even when her legs failed to work and she tumbled to the ground at her Mother’s feet. And even when Becca left to check her computer and came back with a broken face and told her Mother the news; Hayden couldn’t stop her tears.

Mrs Moretti was dead.

And Genevieve was hurting.

And all Hayden wanted was her friend in her arms.

And all Hayden wanted was Genevieve to not hurt.

And all Hayden wanted was Mrs. Moretti to not be dead.

She can’t remember falling asleep; can’t remember how she had come to be in her bed. The red-lit bedside clock read 18:05. Her computer on her desk is off, unplugged. A suitcase laid open beside her closet, half filled with neatly folded clothes and stacked shoes. Hung over her chair, some freshly ironed jeans and a tatty tie-dye shirt, now four years old, but still smelling of everything Genevieve.

Somewhere down the hall she could hear her family moving about; likely her Father, always stepping far too heavy on the floorboards below. She felt sick. Hungry. Tired. Lonely. Broken. Longing.

She rose on weak and unsteady feet. Gripping at the posters of her bed and at the walls of her room as she hobbled toward the door in slow, sure steps.

Before she could open it however, her Mother appeared there, pushing the door ajar and pausing at the entrance. She had always been good at reading her Mother’s face, and tonight was no different; in the dim light of the hallway she could see heartbreak for her daughter, and for her friend; could see the anxiety flit by; powerless against whatever this was.

“I’ve packed your things,” she said in a quiet tone as she reached forward to flick on the overhead light, “Anything else you want to take, try to fit it in okay? If you need help, Becca is next door.”

Hayden tiredly cocked her head, confused. Where was she going?

Her Mother, always soft and kind and loving, reached out to brush her fingers at her face and place a small kiss to her forehead, “I called Genevieve’s Father. They’re holding a funeral this weekend. He said it would mean the world to Genevieve if we— you were there.”

Tears welled in her eyes. She had no idea if she could face Genevieve. Hadn’t the faintest idea how she could help with a loss like this. People are her school had lost aunts and uncles and grandparents before. Relatives that weren’t close. People that weren’t close. And she had felt sorry for them, but not enough to reach out and comfort. But Genevieve was different. Mrs. Moretti was different. She had been a second Mother to Hayden. And her heart ached for the travesty of it all.

“When are we leaving?” she asked, rubbing a hand at her tired eye.

“Tonight. Your Father and I booked tickets on the earliest flight we could,” her Mother rubbed soft hands along her face, “Pack what you need, we’re leaving soon,” and then with another gentle forehead kiss, her Mother was gone back down the hall.

The atmosphere of the house was heavy. Subdued. Millie had never been as quiet as in this moment. And when Hayden ventured downstairs, dressed in the old tie-dye, hand-woven leather bracelets around her wrist; Millie was at her side, hugging her as tight as she could before moving away.

She could not stop fiddling with her bracelet; turning it around her wrist over and over, feeling the worn grooves against her skin. She hadn’t packed anything extra, and her case felt the lightest in the back of the car. No books. No special items. Nothing of her usual self.

The drive to the airport felt fast; the scenes outside seeming to change in nothing but a blink. She hadn’t quite understood what her books and movies meant when they talked of heartbreak and depression; attributed it before to how she felt having to leave Genevieve after each visit. But this she knew had to be it. A blind emptiness. No hunger no tears no angry yelling.

Even when they had boarded the plane and she had been offered a favourite snack by her Mother, she shunned away; turning to watch the world drift by as the plane lifted off, away from one home and to another.

 

* * *

**Genevieve**

It had just been a cold. A headache. A fever.

And then her Mother seized and dropped and choked on her own vomit; and Genevieve had ridden in the back of a police car, cradling Micah close; shadowing the sirens of the ambulance ahead.

The police officer stayed with them. A kindly younger woman. She played with Micah and kept him on her lap and told Genevieve not to worry; that the hospital was one of the best in the nation and they’d help her mom. This did not quell her worry. Did not quell the heaviness of her gut or heart.

She had wanted for Hayden. Begged whatever Gods that might have listened to bring her; to let her hold her friend and sob her worries to someone who would understand. Who would empathise and chase the worries away.

When her Father arrived, harried and wild-eyed and terrified; he had not stopped to check in on them. She did not blame him for that for he loved her Mother dearly, and the police officer still kept them company and told them stories and comforted Micah to sleep in her arms.

It was not until deep into the evening, when the officer was curled tightly around her brother like a protective blanket, one in deep sleep and the other flitting in-between; that her Father had come to them, exhausted. Genevieve could see the remains of the the shed tears, fresh and angry and scared.

And Mr. Greely was there with his wife. Her Father could not look at her and yet begged her to go with them, to take Micah and go. That he needed to stay and care and—

“No,” she had said, gritting her teeth and clenching her fists and looking as much her Mother now than she had ever done so before.

It took an hour to convince him to let her stay. And an hour more, stranded in a quiet cafeteria, to convince him to let her see her. Hindsight would later tell her that she should have left, that she should not have begged.

Machines and doctors and more machines. The rhythmic beeps of the monitors and the intubation and the steady thump thump of the blood in her ears. Her Mother’s skin had turned red and blistered and was hot to the touch. She had heard the disease passed around the lips of the doctors but could not make sense of it.

“Is she dying?” she asked, face void of emotion; a hand touching gently at her Mother’s.

Her Father paused far too long. Unsure of the answer himself; or of the answer he wished to tell his daughter. And the doctors with their eyes adverted; _Yes._

It was six days until her Mother succumbed. She had watched it happen as if in slow-motion; her Father electing to have her body torn from the machines sustaining a husk of her former self.

God how her heart ached for her Father. For Micah. For Hayden.

She had not cried since arriving and did not cry as she was steered from the hospital by Mr. Greely; her Father staying behind to organize her mother’s relocation. And she did not cry in the face of her younger brother, who would not understand at his tender age what had occured.

Mr. Greely let her walk across the road to her house, alone; on the promise that they would join her in an hour; she needed the rest, the solitude and the peace and quiet. And in the confines of her own bedroom, where the floorboards underfoot squeaked horribly, she crouched to breathe deep. In. Out. In. Out. Hayden.

She begged to the listening Gods again for Hayden. Begged. Breathed. In. Out.

And still she could not cry.

Her computer had grown a layer of dust in the near week she had been gone, and whirred angrily when awoken from its sleep. Skype had been left open from the morning her mother dropped to the floor. Piles of unread messages and unanswered pings.

Hayden had devolved from their normal chatter, to worried questions, to gentle pleading, to well-wishing and prayers and, eventually, at the very bottom of the scroll a _“I love you, please be safe.”_

Her heart ached.

And still she could not cry.

Sleep did not come easy. She worried it might never come easy again.

Wake came with an even greater struggle. Her Mother had died in the morning and she had been home by lunch. And now it was dark and damp and biting cold.

The phone ringing had caught her attention; shaken her from her uneasy slumber. Somewhere down the hall her Father answered in a broken voice.

“Yes,” she heard him say, “Yes the funerals this weekend. Hows— Genevieve’s the same. She’s sleeping, finally. She barely slept— Yes. Thank you. Yes. I’ll tell her. Thank you.”

Heavy footsteps trudged the hall towards her; a gentle knock at the door. She pretended to sleep, eyes shut closed against the invading light that came thereafter.

“Gen?” he called, and under her eyelids she could see his shadow eclipse the hallway glow, “The Blair’s called. They’ll be here tonight.”

She knew he knew she was awake. She had never been good at faking sleep. In any other circumstance she might have opened her eyes. But she couldn’t face him yet; could not show him that she hadn’t shed a tear for her lost Mother.

He paused in her doorway; and she could hear him shuffle, opening his mouth several times to speak and then closing it again. And then the door slowly shut. And she was alone.

And still she could not cry.

She had only seen the sunrise twice in her life. Once when she was eight and she and Hayden had stayed up until the crack of dawn playing cards. And again when she was ten and it was Hayden’s birthday and to celebrate they watched the sunrise and fell asleep together in a hammock.

And now again; for the the third time in her life she saw beginnings of the sunrise. From the seat of the cold, dead airport. Bundled in a late-season jacket, tired eyes watching out over the tarmac as planes came and went and came again.

_Atlanta, GA to Rochester NY, Will Disembark from Terminal...4_

Her Father, dozing, did not wake. Dark bags hung under his eyes as his chest slowly rose and fell again. She doubted whether he had slept before their drive out here. He deserved to sleep, deserved to dream of a better life.

_Atlanta, GA to Rochester NY, Will Disembark from Terminal...4_

She curled against her Father’s side. Squinting against the fingers of the morning sun as it reached across the airstrip; touching at her cold legs. Through the big glass window panes she could see the plane, taxied and setup for disembarking. Could see the few red-eyed, tired passengers climbing down the stairs one by one; mostly men in business suits and women with phones held to their ears.

_Atlanta, GA to Rochester NY, Will Disembark from Terminal...4_

The last time she had waited in these seats, Hayden and her Father had come alone. And it was in the late evening and the usually quiet girl had excitedly squealed and flung herself down the airplane steps and through the hall, straight into Genevieve’s arms. And they had stood there hugging silently while their Father’s talked nonsense. And if she closed her eyes and thought hard enough, Genevieve could remember how Hayden’s hair had smelled of oatmeal and honey.

_Atlanta, GA to Rochester NY, Will Disembark from Terminal...4_

“Gen,” her father said, gently shaking her leg, “Planes arrived.”

She stretched, moving from his side for him to stand and stretch too; watching as he craned his neck this way and that, allowing it to crack in several places. Her Mother had often admonished him for that; finding it disgusting and concerning. _Necks shouldn’t crack like that._

As if he knew what she was thinking he passed a smile between them; holding his hand out for her to rise. And when they started walking he did not let it go; and for a moment she felt like a small child again and wished it were so.

“I’ll be glad to get home and sleep,” he said as they stood and waited and watched, “She’d kill us for not sleeping for a week, you know?”

“She’d kill them for paying to catch a last minute flight,” she replied, “They could have waited until Friday.”

As the people from the plane bustled into the terminal, beelining for the baggage carriers; he turned and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Saying nothing more. Knowing she was right; but knowing too that her Mother would have paid thousands had it meant Genevieve would not suffer through loss alone.

Their entrance and meeting; unlike so many before the current, was not loud, or intrusive or excitable. Mr. Blair shook her Father’s hand and Millie clung to her Mother’s leg and they were off to the side — Genevieve and Hayden. And she knew the adults were watching them, waiting for a breakdown or similar.

They had grown in the months since their last face to face. Hayden was taller now, by perhaps an inch or two. And Genevieve, in the sadness of it all, felt dwarfed and tiny and vulnerable when it had always been the other way around.

“Let’s go home,” Genevieve croaked out in a small, feeble voice; though tears did not follow as much as she wished them to.

The adults didn’t argue. Didn’t falter. Let them walk behind as they moved through the terminal with baggage in hand. Did not push or pry or talk much at all. And when the Blair’s piled into a taxi they did not coerce Hayden in and kissed her forehead and told them they’d meet each other at their place.

Unlike the drive to the airport, where she had sat in the front, feet propped up against the dashboard; Genevieve wordlessly crawled into the back seat and moved across to make room for Hayden.

Her Father didn’t speak to them, apart from telling them to wear seatbelts, and turning around to offer them both a kind, tired smile; one which Hayden returned, but one which did not reach her eyes.

The rhythmic sound of the tires moving along the road, of the small bumps and dips and curves, kept Genevieve grounded; even as her brain ran a mile a minute. She had no idea what to say, no idea how to process into words the heartbreak she felt.

A gentle hand against hers startled her from her dead gaze out at the rolling city. And though Hayden was not looking at her, she felt the connection and the meaning. Felt the warmth of her thumb against the back of her palm; felt how tightly her fingers intertwined with her own and how perfect they fit.

And still she could not cry.

“Hey,” her Father said some time later, the car slowing to a stop, “We’re here.”

Hayden’s hand wavered but did not leave, coaxing her from the car. Rubbing gentle, calming circles against her knuckles.

The ascent into the house was maddeningly quiet between them; unlike their parents, now chatting as if something horrible hadn’t happened. They were excused, wordlessly; given time to grieve in their own manners in Genevieve’s own space.

Her room felt tiny. The dust that had accumulated in the week felt stifling. And as she sat on the mattress, Hayden’s hand falling from hers, she felt the loss start to settle; start to fester and eat and cause her chest to ache.

She heard her window open just a crack, letting the freezing morning air pour in and spread life through her room. And moments later, she felt the bed sink on the opposite side and gentle hands coax her yet again, down, down, down into the bed and under the warmth of the covers.

They had always hugged in their sleep. Always shared a bed. But this was different. Today was different.

Hayden curled around her form, all gangly limbs and soft skin and smelling of oatmeal and honey. And she felt the scratchiness of the leather bracelet touch against her mid. Felt the gentle fingers tracing patterns across her skin.

And she cried.

Heaving, choking sobs.

Fat tears rolling down her cheeks and making a pool on the pillow below.

Gentle whispers and calming words and soft hands and the reminder that she was loved and that her Mother loved her dearly and that Hayden loved her dearly too.

And she cried and cried and cried.

 

* * *

**Hayden**

The funeral had ended up being a quiet and somber affair. They had all woken early on Saturday morning, dressed in their nicest suits and dresses and jackets, and piled into dark hired cars to make their way to the cemetery.

Hayden had barely left Genevieve’s side since the night they had fallen asleep; electing to sit beside her and tangle their hands together as if they were the only things rooting each other to the earth below.

When the undecorated pine box descended into the ground and the local pastor said his final words, Genevieve had clung to Hayden’s hand that much tighter; chest rising and falling in a way that Hayden knew she was holding back tears, so she cried for them both.

There was no wake. No party in Mrs. Moretti’s honor. Just solemn goodbyes and gentle hugs for Genevieve and her father from distant family and friends. And Hayden had been there the entire time, viciously staring back at people that looked at her like she was an intruder.

They had spent that night sat around the living room, sharing drinks and sandwiches and stories; and her Father let Mr. Moretti cry on his shoulder in the darkness outside as if they had been good friends for a great deal longer than four years.

Genevieve sat curled against her, heavy eyes staring into space; one hand looped around hers and the other running her fingers along her forearm. And Hayden thought of her trashy romance novels and how this felt very much a situation those lovers ended in and she blushed madly at the thought of it all; _she couldn’t be in love with Genevieve Moretti, especially not right now._

When they retired to bed and her parents made no move to make her sleep on the airbed in the lounge; Hayden found herself crawling into bed yet again with her friend. It was not really a bed built for two, but they made it work; cuddled around each other, buried within each others everything.

Come morning her parents had woke early to cook breakfast for everyone; Mr. and Mrs. Greely included, who had come by with a trunk full of groceries. And when Genevieve and her descended the stairs they were met with warm arms and kind smiles and a family worth more than words could describe.

Mr. Moretti had not looked better in the few days they had been there. Still tired, yes. But Hayden could see his rough smile and color returning. And Genevieve too, who had barely let herself look happy, found comfort in the morning festivities; making Hayden’s heart soar.

They sat around playing board games and watching television, and occasionally Millie would run past, far more content to play with Micah and keep him occupied than not.

“Do you wanna go for a walk, Hay?” Genevieve said quietly as she tucked her phone back in her jacket pocket, a gentle squeeze from her hand accompanying it.

She hadn’t a chance to reply before Genevieve pulled her to her feet, grabbing at their jackets off the backs of dining chairs and moving out the front door. The midmorning spring air was still cold off the back of winter and as they walked, Hayden could see their breath turn to fine mist in front of them.

Genevieve was quiet. Contemplative. Her eyes faced to the ground as they walked, eyebrows furrowed, and feet dodging at the cracks in the pavement. Hayden knew she was working a speech over in her head before she said out loud; trying to put her thoughts in order less it come out in a garbled mess.

She reached a hand out, taking Genevieve’s from her jeans pocket, and linking their fingers just enough to say tethered. She let her think. Let her formulate. Content instead to watch the cars and other people passing by; likely headed into the city for the Sunday markets or otherwise.

“Move closer,” Genevieve eventually said, thought did not look up from watching the ground ahead of them; her cheeks grown a pretty shade of pink.

“What?” Hayden replied, the corner of her mouth crawling up into a half smile, “I’m pretty close already, Genevieve Moretti, if you hadn’t noticed,” she held their hands in the air as to signify their already connected bond.

That got a laugh. One of the first she had seen and heard since arriving some days ago.

“No,” she said again, this time side-glancing at her and looking as much a bashful boy asking a girl to the prom as she had ever done, “I mean move here— To Rochester.”

Hayden felt her cheeks grow hot, her palms sweaty, “I— where would I live? I don’t think they’d let a twelve year old buy a house.”

Genevieve grumped a petulant little noise, more a snort than anything else, “Nah. But they’d let your family buy one. And you guys could stay with us until you found one. Or just. You. You can stay with us— me. Stay with me. I don’t want you to go back home.”

She thought of her trashy romance novels again. Twice in as many days. Imagined Genevieve like one of the many men proclaiming their love for the leading lady as it poured rain about them.

“We can’t just pack up and move like that Gen—” she said quietly, tentatively and when she felt Genevieve start to try to pull her hand from hers, she tightened grip just enough to deny the action, “But I’ll ask.”

If it wasn’t for the fact that she could read her friend so well, Hayden would have missed the sparkle of hope in her eyes. Would have missed the slight tug at the corner of her lips before the cool mask slipped back into place. Would have missed how her fingers relaxed and fell back into place around her own.

“Yeah?” she said, and the joy in her voice was barely hidden, “I’m glad you came you know? I— I don’t know what I would have done.”

They had looped around the block at some point; Genevieve having unconsciously led them in the right directions. And while the silence fell back around them, Hayden could feel the calm tide rolling from Genevieve, wrapping around like a warm blanket in the cold air. She looked happy. Content. The same as she had looked on her tenth birthday when she thought Hayden had been asleep in the hammock but had been peeking up through half-shut eyelashes.

The house was loud with activity. Lunch of sandwiches and fruit being prepared by any available hand. Beer passing between their Fathers hands. Becca and her Mother pressed side by side in the kitchen with gentle smiles passing their features.

Their hands parted as they entered the chaos; fingers lingering against palms for as long as possible before separating entirely. And as her Mother pressed a kiss against her head, soft blue eyes gazing down at her questioningly, she could only smile back up; hoping that whatever mind-reading powers her Mother had falsified when she was a child were somewhat true.

It was all part of the healing process. Her Mother said, recalling when she had lost her own Mother some time ago. The talk and the drink and the food. The smiles that grow wider and truer with each passing moment.

Genevieve had been taken aside by her Father after lunch. Quietly moved upstairs and out of sight. And though Hayden could feel her stomach clench in worry she did not let it show; pouring herself at her own Mother instead; hands deep in the soapy sink.

“Can we move here?” she asked, bluntly.

Her Father, mid-beer-sip choked the bitter hops back, devolving into a coughing fit as he passed them into the living room. Her Mother slapping at his leg in admonishment and cutting him a glare.

“What?” she asked, and those always-soft blue eyes tracked at her face, making Hayden go a deep crimson.

“I want to move to Rochester. Can we move here?”

Her mother heaved a sigh, reaching a sud-covered hand to wipe at something on her cheek and studying her for deeper motive, “Sweetheart, you know it’s okay if you’re gay, right?”

She blanched. Whatever color her blush had turned her before grew only deeper. Eyes flicking this way and that. Hands shaking.

“I’m not gay,” she quietly barked, ducking her head.

“Mmhm,” her mother chuckled, fixing to wash the dishes again, “Actually your Father was saying last night that maybe a change of pace would be nice. Rochester is a good city.”

Her face was burning, she could tell. Maybe she had a fever. More likely still mortified by her Mother’s not-so-confession come callout. _She wasn’t gay. And she definitely was not in love with Genevieve Moretti. Definitely not._

“So is that a yes?” she feebly whispered out, too embarrassed to look up into her eyes; thanking God that Becca hadn’t been in the room to overhear any of it.  
  
“It’s a ‘we’ll think about it’,” her Mother replied; and though her eyes were downcast, Hayden could see the gleeful little smile on her face.

She shuffled on her feet, burying her hands deep into her pockets. The delight at even a _maybe_ surpassing her embarrassment; well, most of it at least; her cheeks staying a pleasant shade of red.

Shuffling and quiet voices on the stairs gave her a chance at escape and she moved, waddled, if she were honest, to the source of it. Genevieve and her Father were standing on the bottom few steps, holding each other with tight grips and buried faces. She could see the new addition on Genevieve’s wrist before they even parted; a fancy gold bracelet, inlaid with what she imagined to be diamonds. Too expensive for a child to wear and yet—

Mr. Moretti passed her by with a smile and a shoulder touch and went to join her Father, leaving the two of them standing in the small hallway; Hayden entranced by the little object.

“It was my Mom’s,” Genevieve said, and the tears that lingered in her eyes told Hayden she’d cried when handed it, “She used to wear it all the time. It was one of her favourites. I used to wear it a lot as a kid apparently. Dad said she’d have wanted me to have it.”

Hayden smiled gently and reached her hand out instinctively; watching as Genevieve’s instinctively reached back, fingers intertwining like nothing else mattered, “I’m glad,” she said, and remembering her Mother’s callout, moved in and, hand still held, wrapped her friend in a tight hug, “I’m really glad I’m here, Gen.”

“Me too,” she heard in a low, husky voice; tired and happy and loving all at once, “I love you, you know?”

_And oh how her heart soared._


	3. The Sweetest Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unedited.
> 
> for reye, because he really loves his dumb gay girls and i do too
> 
> official fic spotify playlist: https://open.spotify.com/user/azkaboy/playlist/1Xs7Gfrg3cSWy9stGmXNIL?si=FBaV0fuMS7OAZbVyRZxCIw

* * *

**Hayden**

“You know,” her Mother started one morning, glancing at her work splayed out across the dining table as she had walked past, “Drowning yourself in more work than you can handle to avoid the parts of your brain you don’t like is the same as running away from your problems.”

She scoffed, _no it wasn’t,_ “Who says I’m trying to avoid parts of my brain?” she questioned in return, and let herself take a small break, stretching her arms above her head.

Her Mother let out a light laugh, busying herself with preparing breakfast for the family; it was tradition that they eat pancakes every first saturday of the month and this was no exception. She didn’t offer an actual reply to her daughter bar a raised eyebrow and a pointed look.

Not that Hayden was offended; her Mother was far too soft and kind to actually tear into her in any way, but still; being called out on your bullshit by your own flesh and blood was hardly what she had in mind for seven o’clock in the morning. She’d gotten up hours before anyone else, done yoga, painted a piece for art class, written more of her newest composition, and her Mother had caught her midway into working through the homework for English that was still weeks from being due.

“You know, I was checking my calendar last night,” her Mother said, causing her to stop massaging at the aches in the muscles she’d just stretched.

“Mmm?” she replied as nonchalantly as she could, pretending like she had no idea what was about to come next.

“Seems Genevieve’s got a big game today. Something about old rivals? Can’t imagine why my beautiful, smart, wonderful daughter would forget to remind her stunningly upset Mother that this was coming up.”

She flushed. Caught. Of course she’d written it down. Her Mother wrote everything down. Or she’d been speaking to Mr Moretti and he’d let on. Either way. She was caught.

“Yeah,” she sheepishly said, feeling her neck grow hot and her hands clammy, “I don’t know. Gen invited me but, her and the team are probably going out for pizza or something afterwards.”

“And you aren’t going to go _because…?”_

Her Mother was the _worst_ at this. Way too delvy. At least her Father and Becca had the decency to pretend like they couldn’t see what was going on. Her Mother had none such thing and refused to stop bringing it up.

“Cause it’s awkward, Mom!” she said, exasperatedly throwing her arms out in front of her before aggressively rubbing at her own head, “I swear I work up the courage to say something, or I think it finally clicks over in her big dumb head and then she goes and does something _stupid_ like try to hook me up with the idiot on the Debate team. Because _‘we’re perfect together’._ ”

Her mother, hunched over the mixing bowl, wooden spoon in hand cannot help but laugh. And she feels all the hotter and more clammy for it. She hates when this stuff comes up. And _God_ it hadn’t stopped coming up since she cornered her Mother the weekend of the funeral to _all but beg_ to move to Rochester.

She stumbled to the kitchen, all too long legs and arms and tie-dye shirt that is thinned and worn almost beyond recognition.

“Stop laughing, it’s not funny. She’s stupid. I hate her.”

“No,” her Mother said, and the smile that covered her entire face reached every particle of her body, causing Hayden, even in her shyness to duck her head, “No, you Love Her and that’s the problem.”

She groaned louder, opening the fridge door and pretending to slam her head over and over with it; all while her Mother giggled a storm up in the background. She couldn’t help but smile too. It was infectious. Annoying as the subject was. And before long she was crouched on the kitchen islands bar stools and sharing juice direct from the bottle.

It had taken her years to realize she was allowed to be in love with Genevieve Moretti. Not to come to terms with the fact that she might have been gay or the very least bisexual; that came easy. Realizing she might be in love with her best friend? Even easier. But truly accepting that she was _allowed_ to love her best friend? Literal years and a lot of gentle coaxing from a very patient Mother.

“Do you think she’ll ever catch the hint, Mom?” she asked, watching the pancake batter bubble away in the pan.

“That depends,” her Mother replied, passing her tiny pieces of batter that had dripped and cooked long before the rest, “Whether you want me to sugar coat it or not.”

“No sugar thanks.”

“I think Genevieve is trying _very hard_ . But she’s _very dense_. And doesn’t have a Mom she can go to, to discuss her feelings for her best friend, so she has to process it on her own.”

In hindsight, she should have asked for a _little_ sugar. Because that much truth had stung a little. The loss of Genevieve’s Mother was rarely talked about. Not that they were trying to forget the woman, but because they could all see how much pain it left in the eyes of the family still reeling from it all.

But her Mother was right. Gen didn’t have anybody. Her Father was a good man but about as femininely emotionally competent as a toaster; which is to say not much. And Micah was still far too young to sit down as a sibling and talk about romantic feelings with.

“But,” her Mother continued, “In my opinion, it looks to me like she might be cottoning on. I think she’s realized you’re probably too shy to initiate things and that if she wants anything, she’s going to have to be the one to come to you.”

“She tried to hook me up with the idiot Debate girl, _last week_ Mom.”

“I know you’ve given her lots of time, and I hate to the bearer of bad news; but sweetie, give her time. We’ll go the game today and maybe she’ll fall and twist her ankle and they’ll dope her up on something good and she’ll spill her feelings for you.”

“ _Mom!_ ”

The rest of the morning had gone smoothly. Mostly. Her Father stumbled down into the kitchen not long after she had finished both being chastised and doing the chastising. And Millie came down looking as much a disgusted and tired preteen as was possible. Even Becca, home on a short college break had managed to wake up, and even as half a zombie, come to eat the customary breakfast.

Her Mother worked the rest of the family up into a hype about the impending soccer game; and Becca had given her side looks like she knew that the only reason they were going to this was because her Mother had cornered her into a weird position about her ‘ _Genevieve thing_ ’.

And sometime mid-morning, an hour before the game was scheduled to begin, they made their way to the schools sporting grounds and set up shop in the stands close to the front, legs all huddled under the thick blanket one of them had thought to grab on the way out the door. And thank God someone had thought to do so because the autumn air, whilst still warm off the back of summer had a bite to it that left bare legs aching for forgotten longer pants.

Most team players were already here, doing drills and warming up, half changed into their uniforms whilst repping whatever casual clothes they could get away with before a coach yelled at them to take it off.

Hayden was not at all subtle as she searched the field for Genevieve, leg bouncing anxiously as she scanned the faces and numbers. Not here yet. Obviously.

And it wasn’t until twenty minutes until game start that she heard her Father stand to greet someone and Micah flew at her side like a small pest but one which she embraced willingly; covering his face in tiny kisses and sweeping him into her lap.

“Genevieve’s dumb and couldn’t find her boots,” he said, settling up against her and pointing out at the field where the girl in question ran ahead, focused entirely on apologizing to her coach and fellow teammates and earning a round of back claps and laughs.

Hayden felt her face flush at the sight of her; her heart skipping a beat or two before raging like a storm against a wall. _Okay calm down_.

Over the years she’d truly managed to grow into herself as a person and it made her gut tumble and twist and turn. All long tan limbs and short dark hair pushed back behind one ear. Easy eyes and a demeanor that screamed confidence and demanded respect. A complete polar opposite of herself; soft and shy and only ever showing parts of herself in the privacy of home; the tie-dye nerd who was destined for a special kind of greatness.

She shifted in her seat, turning herself more toward Micah as he spoke to her, telling her all about school and his new toys and how his Father was making him try to drink this disgusting juice mixture that Genevieve always made easier by drinking half for him. And she fell in love with the girl even more if it were possible; so patient with the sickly little boy who could barely remember the times before his Mother had passed.

And suddenly, with the blow of the whistle and the roar of the crowd, the game was set to begin. And she could not help but lean forward with anticipation and notice the eyes looking at her from the field, and the smile that swallowed her whole.

 

* * *

**Genevieve**

The game had been a success, somehow.

They’d been pushing themselves harder than usual the past few weeks in the anticipation of it. Running drills in their own free time. They had tied every other game they had ever had with the opposing team and their coach demanded a win; so they did just that. Again, Somehow.

Because early in the game one of her teammates took a nasty fall and ended up having to be carried off the field (arguing up a storm the entire time; trying to struggle from the medics arms to fight another player). And then later, she had taken a not-accidental ball to the face, causing blood to pour from her nose and into her mouth. But she spat it up, ignored the pain and kept going. Harder. Faster.

She’d not managed to score any personal goals but was responsible for two nonetheless; carrying the ball almost the entire field and twisting in and around the enemies like she were more fluid than solid.

And when the final whistle blew and she were hiked up in the air by their enormously lanky goalie and thrown over their shoulders like she weighed next to nothing; she couldn’t help but feel the glee that bubbled up in her.

They’d done it.

And Hayden had seen her do it.

She couldn’t stand still, could barely make it through the after-game handshakes, excusing herself the first moment she could and jogging over towards her families; watching as Hayden effortlessly lifted Micah over the dividers so he could barrel into her with a vicious little cheer and sending her toppling over into the grass below.

When she finally managed to extract herself from under him and hoist him up on her shoulders, she shook hands with her second family and allowed them to shower in well-deserved praise (what, she wasn’t self absorbed; she just enjoy rightly being given praise when she did things well).

Eventually though, after she had allowed everyone else to crowd and congratulate her, she passed Micah off to her Father and approached Hayden; finding her sitting on the barriers with her legs draped inwards toward the field.

“I’m glad you could make it,” she said, pushing her hair from her sweaty forehead.

“I’m glad _you_ made it. Apparently you couldn’t find your boots.”

Genevieve blushed, throwing a scowl towards Micah who stuck his tongue out at her as he was shepedered off with everyone else; heading to walk and grab a drink together at the nearby diner; as was customary when they could all make a game.

“How’s your nose?” Hayden asked, slowly reaching out a hand to hover it over the swollen, bruised skin below.

She could lean in, twist her head _just enough_ and Hayden would be touching her. But she didn’t. Or rather, Couldn’t.

“It’s fine. Just a bump,” she shrugged, laughing off the ache in her heart and skull, “I bet it looked real badass though, right? I bet I looked cool.”

“I don’t know if I’d call getting a ball to the face _cool_ , Genevieve Moretti.”

“Boo, you’re just being modest. It was cool.”

That elicited a laugh; one which showed off the one-cheek dimple and the slight turn of Hayden’s head; and one which made her stomach flop over a dozen times with a thousand butterflies.

“Oi,” a voice called somewhere off to their side, “Moretti! Team meeting in the lockers.”

She groaned, throwing her head back in frustration and feeling the blood pool from her nose to her throat; _don’t gag_.

“Go,” Hayden said, pressing a hand against her arm and pushing her the way the rest of the team had gone, “I’ll wait for you out front.”

“Ye-yeah okay. I’ll be quick.”

Unsure if it was the pounding in her head or the surge of her heart, but she didn’t move instantly; instead weighing the options of pressing a kiss against Hayden’s cheek before deciding better of it. If she had wanted _this_ , then she’d have shown it, right?

Instead she offered a lopsided smile and gentle touch to her dangling legs and jogged off, falling in beside her giant of a goalie; who gave her a raised eyebrow and shake of the head, a silent insult.

“What?” she hissed as they passed through the door of the locker rooms.

“Nothin’” her goalie said with a shake of her head, “You’re just dumb as a fuckin’ doornail Moretti.”

She would have refuted it, maybe even ended up in a half-playful brawl over the comment had their coach not pulled everyone into a huddle and began praising and congratulating and then falling into critiques. What was that saying? _Build em up then break em down_. Or. Wait was that from a game? She scrunched her eyebrows to remember.

“Moretti,” her coach said, pulling her from her string of thoughts with a grunt hardly fitting of the image she tried so hard to curate, “You did good. How’s your nose, kid?”

“S’fine,” she replied, waving him off, “Bruised. They did that move on purpose, you know?”

“Yeah,” he replied and his look darkened for a moment, “I’m going to pull David up on that one. Can’t let his girls get away with shit like that. Unsportsmanlike.”

She smiled at him and waved him off, focused instead on throwing an extra layer of deodorant on and wiping her face and hands clean of grime.

Eventually the meeting subsided and after a small hoorah the girls fled one by one; Genevieve among the first out the door with her bag thrown over her shoulder like a sack.

The high from the game was wearing off, bit by bit. Her legs ached. Her face ached. She probably stunk. But as she rounded the corner to the fields entrance and found Hayden leaned back against a wall, all of that suddenly didn’t matter nearly as much. She probably looked as much like a dog seeing its owner as she had ever done (someone on her team had called her out for that at one point, and she’d never denied the connection).

“Hey,” she said, falling in beside her and jutting her chin the way of the diner some blocks down the road, “Wanna get going? Or we can ditch and go elsewhere. I know the diner isn’t really your scene.”

“Whatever you want, Genevieve,” Hayden replied, ducking her head in customary shyness that she was more than used to at this point; never one to try to voice what she wanted

“My head _aches,_ ” she relented, “Let’s just. Wander to the park. I need the quiet.”

The worry on the other girls face was almost palpable; eyes dragging over her face and form, hands twitching at her side like she wished to reach out and touch and make sure nothing more hurt. And Genevieve, so used to having to watch for tics like this, found her heart swell at it and her cheeks tint red.

The park wasn’t far, over the road and down a small hill mostly. And somewhere along the way, making her head swim more than necessary (though not with pain), she had unthinkingly reached out and intertwined her fingers with Hayden’s, finding them more than happy to link back. And she was thrown back to years ago, walking the block of her house and begging the girl to stay.

When they had finally managed to find a free shady spot to set up camp, as it were, and they were huddled under the tree side by side she felt her body relax; her aching muscles slowly release bit by bit as she sagged on the girl beside her.

“M’nose hurts,” she complained in a sluggish, childish tone, “M’whole head hurts.”

Hayden, obviously trying not to jiggle her too much, quietly laughed and turned, pressing a kiss into the top of Genevieve’s still sweaty head, almost like it was purely natural to do so, and softly said, “You’ll be fine you big baby.”

And the moment settled just like that.

Like what had just happened, hadn’t just happened.

But the quickening of the breathes of the girl beside her let Genevieve know she thought anything otherwise. The scared, anxious drawing in of air that she used to take when they would have to walk into crowded zones of people, and Genevieve would have to hold her hand to calm her, and yell at people to get out of the way.

 _She kissed her_.

It was a head kiss. But _she_ had kissed _her_.

Genevieve couldn’t move. Body now very taut again. Eyes facing forward. She could feel Hayden’s hand shake in her own, still intertwined between them.

She sat up slowly. Ever so slowly. Don’t spook wild animals, she remembered her Mother teaching her at a much younger age; because they’re just as likely to run as they are to attack and you could never be sure of which it was going to be.

“Uhm,” she said, clearing her throat, and she could feel the heat on her cheeks; not sure if it was from herself or Hayden.

“Don’t,” Hayden replied, curt. Jaw clenched. Eyes downward. Embarrassed. Anxious beyond reason.

 _You’re dumb as a doornail, Moretti_ a voice chided at her. And suddenly the light went off in her head and she understood.

It had taken years to come to terms with fact she was gay. It hadn’t been easy. And she broke down to her Father at fourteen, terrified that he would abandon her over it. But he had pulled in her into a hug and whispered that he had known since she was eight. And she hadn’t understood then, how he could have known when she didn’t. But eight is when she had met Hayden and it _all made sense_.

Desperately wanting Hayden to move _whole states_ to be with her. Arguing with her Father that a spare bed wouldn’t be needed, because didn’t he know that friends slept in the same bed. Being ten and having her heart beat fast whenever they played games with other children and Hayden chose her; every time.

_Oh shit. She really was dumb as a fucking doornail._

She couldn’t help but laugh. A belly-heavy chuckle that made the girl beside her almost _glow_ red with embarrassment. And she couldn’t talk. She couldn’t explain. She wasn’t laughing at her. She was laughing at herself. And she could see Hayden withdrawing into herself. And she just couldn’t stop laughing. _Dumb as a fucking doornail_.

The hand in hers made a move to leave but she held firm and pressed them into the ground, shaking her head as she tried to gather herself. This was a nervous breakdown and she knew it.

“Please,” Hayden begged, voice low and pained and quiet; bordering on broken.

“No,” she said, holding a shaking hand to her chest, trying to catch her breath, “N-no, you don’t get it. I’m not. I’m not laughing at you. God I’m dumb. I’m sorry.”

The quizzical look nearly sent her overboard again, and before her brain could completely shutdown and run away and leave her without a best friend _OR_ a girlfriend, she brought her spare hand up and turned the all too stunned girl towards her proper; forcing her to look, forcing her to see.

And then surged forward and pressed her lips against Hayden’s; against her best friends; against the girls she had loved since she was eight and found more comfort and solace and happiness in than she had ever even thought was possible.

It was only a short kiss. More than a peck of the lips but less than first base. And she moved back. Letting her eyes roam over Hayden’s features, watching as her eyes fluttered open and the pink of her cheeks glow so beautifully; and seeing the love that poured from her that she had been ignorantly blind to moments before.

“I love you,” she blurted; she needed her to know, desperately needed her to know.

“You— what?” Hayden said, brows kneading together as she moved her head back slightly, “Excuse me?”

“Oh. Is that…” Genevieve drawled off, waving between them with an almost limp hand, “Was that not what was going on there?”

Hayden looked confused. Exasperated. But the love was there. Wafting off her like heat from a fire. And then, her lips curled up into her one-cheek-dimpled smile and she started to giggle. Not anxiously. Not in the way she did before she was going to cry. A true, terrifyingly beautiful happy giggle.

“You love me?” she asked, wiping at the tears that had gathered in her eyes; happy tears (Genevieve could tell the difference).

“Yeah. I thought I was being obvious. I’d been trying to be obvious for like…” she mused, “Years honestly.”

That sent Hayden into another fit of nervous, happy laughter before she moved forward and pressed another light kiss at her lips in return for the ‘first’.

“God Mom was right, you really are dense,” she said after they pulled apart, and she reached up to move Genevieve’s hair from forehead, tracing the shape of her brow with ever so soft fingers.

“Since when do you talk like this?” Genevieve asked, leaning into the hand as if it was second nature. Maybe it was. Maybe it always had been.

“I’ve been so _shy_ . I was worried you didn’t like me. I’ve loved you for the _longest time_ . Since you made me that ugly tie-dye when we were _eight_ Genevieve.”

Her heart beat fast. Once. Twice. And then her stomach soared. Whatever butterflies she had felt before today was _nothing_ against what she was feeling now.

 _You’re dumb as a doornail, Moretti_.

_You’re in love with your best friend, Moretti._

_You love Hayden Blair with all your being, and she loves you back and has loved you for years._

“God,” she stuttered out, shaking with a mix of anxiety and elation. All it took was getting a probable concussion.

She leaned in, gently pressing her lips into Hayden’s again and feeling them reply in kind. And in the shade of the park tree on game-day Saturday, she felt whatever weight she had been carrying lift from her shoulders.

“God, I love you Hayden Blair,” she said, forehead pressed against the other girls, smiling into her lips and eliciting a giggle that she could feel through her entire body, “I love you so much. I’m so glad you’re here.” 


End file.
